Something Rotten
by Starchild524
Summary: Roger has achieved both the throne and the hand of Queen Lianne, and Jonathan must struggle both with himself and his depraved uncle. Based on William Shakespeare's Hamlet.


**Author's Note:**

Something is rotten in the state of Tortall.  
King Roald has suddenly died, and Roger is on the throne with his new wife, Queen Lianne. The Prince, returning from the desert after his stay among the Bloody Hawk, has become sullen and withdrawn, showing interest only in his courtship of Princess Josiane. Jonathan suspects his uncle of Roald's death, but revenge is a difficult task when his world is turning upside down. Friends betray him left and right, and Jonathan examines his character and life and begins to lose hope in the world. After all, the end is something none of us can avert - the readiness is all.

Basically, this is all Lady Q's fault.  
She discovered some astounding parallels between _Hamlet_ and a possible Tortallan AU. When I discovered this on Lj, gacker that I am, I quickly appropriated it for my own fic purposes. I'm in no way claiming the story exclusively. I would love to see other ficcers contribute to the Tortallan Hamlet concept. Here's what I came up with.  
Note: Roger is Jonathan's cousin, though in _Hamlet_ the Prince battles with his evil _uncle_. In Elizabethan English the two terms were interchangeable, however, and I will refer to Roger as Jonathan's uncle because of the age difference and his marriage to the Queen.

Thanks to LQ for a prompt and thoughtful beta.  
.. .. .. .. ..

Something Rotten

"Show me the man who is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, as I do thee." (Hamlet to Horatio)

Jonathan glanced down the hall left and right before closing the study door. George was fully in his disguise for the evening - pearl-gray, baggy shirt and breeches, pronouncedly simple, and a stern Player's mask. It might have seemed too conspicuous, but with luck any passersby would assume he was one of the Players performing that night, and leave him alone.

"Watch my uncle," Jonathan reminded him. "You should have a good view from the right-hand curtain. If he's guilty, I'm certain he'll show it when he sees his own act on stage. Knowing Roger, he'll probably be tricky about it, but watch him - he can't hide from the truth. And George -" the thief was turning away - "_don't get caught_." Jonathan had been nervous about their exploit from the beginning.

George chuckled. "Oh, don't worry about that. It's my job."

"Yes - and things can often get in the way of us completing our jobs."

"Try and allow yourself at least a chance of completin' them. What makes you so cynical, lately?"

"I'm not cynical." But Jonathan sank down in a chair, palms on his forehead.

"What's eating you?" George wanted to know. He swept off his mask. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"Bad dreams," the Prince admitted after a pause.

"And by day? I'd wager you could use better treatment in wakin' hours, too." The Rogue crossed his arms, examining his friend.

Jonathan gave a humorless chuckle.

"I haven't seen you and Josiane together much lately," George pushed. "How are things with Her Highness?"

"I'm not sure," Jonathan said guardedly. "She seems to be pointedly avoiding my company. In fact, Page Senan returned a letter I sent her asking about it; he said the Princess refused it."

"You don't think," George suggested, "that she might just put you out of her favor?"

"Unlikely. She is a very sweet and mannerable lady."

"And, are you lookin' toward marriage, if I might ask? You have to admit, Jon, you've been more attentive to her than to ladies in the past."

"I don't see why not," Jonathan said reasonably to the first question. "My mother certainly approves of the match. Remember, she and Josiane's mother have been close since childhood."

George lifted an eyebrow. "And is that all the reason needed for a marriage? Seems a feeble link to me."

"Oh?" Jonathan waited. "Why don't you tell me what else you're thinking."

George shrugged and glanced away, then returned his gaze to Jonathan. "That you'd welcome a match now - after Alanna."

The Prince scoffed, showing animation for the first time in their meeting, though of a bitter strain. "Oh, so now you've taken up our lady knight's cause? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. What did she tell you of our encounters in the desert? No, no, I really don't care."

"Jonathan." The thief-king bent to sit on a footstool, not averting his sharp eyes. "Just because I'm on speakin' terms with Alanna doesn't mean I'm any less your friend, and I hope you don't think that of me. Now it doesn't matter what she said about the two of you, because she told it how she saw it and not how she wanted me to see it, if I've any judgment of her. And she's not angry with you, Jon. She's just hurt, and it would do you a load of good if you tried to see why."

Jonathan was silent, jaw tight.

"No one in this world's perfect, Jon, and every now and then we're reminded of it."

"Enough." Jonathan looked up at his friend. "Look, I know what you're saying, George. It's just a bit much now, with everything… happening. I've had other things on my mind."

George glanced down at his Player's mask, studying its reproving glare. "You're really serious about this, then."

"You think I shouldn't be?" Jonathan leaned forward in his chair, mouth open in wordless disgust. "Mithros, George, I -- I know what I've seen, and if it's all true -- do you think I can let my father rot in his grave while that -- lying, smiling Stormwing's on his throne? Tell me, George, do you think I'm crazy too? Because if you do, I'm much better off doing this alone."

George held up his hands. "I'm not questionin' your sanity in the least, Jonathan. Or your duty to your throne as you see it. I'm just tellin' you - yes, and rightly - to be careful." He paused while obstinacy slipped from the Prince's face. "If Roger's what you say he is, he wouldn't hesitate to destroy you. And is probably leanin' toward it." He knew Jonathan would take his word seriously.

Jon sighed. "I know. I wish this hadn't driven everything else from my mind. It's the only thing I _can_ think of, but it's so -- overwhelming. I know what I have to do, and to do it I have to think and be careful -- only because of what I have to do, it's so hard to be careful like I should. Gods above, how am I supposed to _do _this --" He raked a hand through his hair in frustration.

George stood to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Well, I'd say you've done a good enough job at the thinkin' so far."

Jonathan laughed dryly. "I can't promise it will keep up, though." He shook his head. "Never mind. But thank you, George."

"For what, lad?"

"For talking. For understanding." The Prince looked as though he was trying to say more, but couldn't find the words. "You know."

George just smiled and gave his shoulder a final pat before moving away.

Both their heads whipped around at the tramping of footsteps outside the study door. There was a buzz of voices; "Find that bastard Rotard; if he's not onstage when he's needed…."

"You should go," Jonathan said tersely to George. The thief nodded and settled his mask on again as Jonathan opened the door.

"Go find a place," he ordered George. "I have to entertain Their Majesties now. After the play we'll compare notes, so to speak. Meet me here." George nodded and slipped out the door, a misty figure behind a forbidding gray mask.


End file.
